A Winter's Promise (10 page)

But maybe this time she
’
d better not cling. How could
she possibly—Oh, dear! A week was so long for a man.
Would he be angry? Surely he
’
d realize what she had been through these days. Maybe he
’
d praise her for struggling so hard.

She imagined Al helping her to bed, insisting that he
take over completely so she could rest. He
’
d shake his
head and say,
“
I don
’
t know how you did it!
”

The fire snapped, and the baby started. Emma careful
ly laid him in his cradle and then got busy setting the
yeast and filling the stove. Back in bed, the pain didn
’
t
seem so bad when she thought how w
onderful it
would
be just to lie there and rest and rest and rest when Al got
home.

The fire snapped.
“
Ah ... good!
”
she whispered and snuggled deeper into the covers, blissfully free of pain for the moment
. Now, if the baby would sleep a
long while....

A gust of wind shook the windowpanes and howled
around the corner of the house, and the baby began to
cry in earnest. Once more Emma hauled herself out of
bed, pulled on her robe, lined the rocker with a comfort
er from her bed, and put wood in the stove.

“
I wonder what time it is,
”
she said t
o herself when she was settled
with the baby. No matter. The clock would strike soon and she
’
d know. Emma dozed, till her head fell on her shoulder and woke
her.

Now and then the fire snapped
and the wind whistled down the chimney. Otherwise all was quiet. Strangely quiet. Suddenly she was alert. Something wasn
’
t right.

She yawned.
“
I
’
m half asleep, that
’
s all,
”
she told her
self. But after she had tucked the baby back in the cradle,
she realized what was missing.
The clock! It wasn
’
t
ticking! It hadn
’
t struck once during the whole time
she
was up
with the baby.

Emma lit a match. I
n the flame
’
s flare she saw the
hands standing at five after twelve. Never in all
her
married life had she forgotten to wind the clock before
she went to bed. How could she have forgotten tonight?
Well, there was nothing for it now but to w
ait until Al was home with his
pocket watch and could reset it.

The cold wind, determined to creep into the cabin,
found a thousand cracks and crevices. Emma shivered
and tucked quilts around the children cuddled in the
little bed. When the weather got warm, they would
sleep upstairs i
n the little room Al had lined
with boards last summer.

An eerie sound rose above the wind, and Emma tensed. It sounded like wolves. A chill raced up her spine and down her arms. She hadn
’
t heard wolves since they came back from Phillips.

With the comforter wrapped around her, she peered
out into the darkness, remembering a winter night when Albert was a baby. Al was away then, too, and
those horrible creatures had edged closer and closer to
the cabin. Clara Geber was with her that night; she had
often stayed over then. If only Clara were with her now.

Emma held her breath and listened again. Nothing
but the wind now. Still, she waited by the window. The other time, the wolves had been attracted by their little
dog. Poor, little fellow. He had huddled against the door,
whining and barking as the drooling, snarling beasts
closed in on him, but she hadn
’
t dared open the door to
let
him in.

She had set lamps in the windows, because she re
membered Al saying that wolves would never attack a
person with a light. Then she had carried Albert, up the ladder to the cold loft and tried to keep him from crying
until the wolves slunk back to the woods, leaving the
littl
e dog
trembling
pitifully bet unharmed
.

It must
have been my imagination,
Emma assured
herself and hobbled back to bed.
How l
ong,
before day
l
ight?
she wondered, scolding herself over and over for
forgetting to wind the clock. How could she have been
so ca
reless? Now she would have only
daylight to go by.
She wouldn
’
t even know wh
en to put the roast in the oven.

Eventually she slept, waking only when the baby cried again. Objects in the room were faintly taking shape.
Must
be after six,
she estimated.

There was no water for the chickens, she realized
when she was ready to do chores. She
’
d fill their water
dish with snow until she could carry some. Snow pelted
Emma
’
s face when she opened the door of the lean-to.
Whether it was new snow falling from the sky or just
snow being blown about by the raging wind, she didn
’
t
know.

She started to ask God to stop the storm, but then stopped.
What
’
s the sense of
praying,
she thought.
My prayers
don
’
t get answered anyway. But if Al doesn
’
t get
home
—

“
I won
’
t think about that,
”
Emma said as she yanked
the barn door open.
“
I
’
ll do what I have to do right now—this hour—like Kate said, and then I
’
ll face the next hour.
”

So far her back didn
’
t hurt as much as yesterday. So
far. She rested her head on Molly
’
s warm, sturdy flank
as she milked her—as she had rested her head on Al
’
s
chest that bright autumn day when they had walked
down by the creek and talked about their future. Emma
laughed alo
ud. Al wouldn
’
t be flattered to
hear that Molly
’
s flank reminded her of his chest!

He had held her gently in his arms that day—no
more one-armed hugs.
“
You
’
re different from most
girls, Emma,
”
he had said.

“
In what way?
”

“
I
never felt that
I could trust a girl before. I
’
ve
heard
my sisters plan their silly games;
‘
If you tell him this or that, he
’
ll do thus and so.
’
You wouldn
’
t do that, would
you—try to make me jealous, so I
’
d pay more attention
to you?

Emma had raised her head and looked into his eyes.
She wanted to be serious, but she heard herself giggle.
“
No, I wouldn
’
t. I wouldn
’
t know how!
”

Al threw back his head and laughed.
“
I hope you nev
er learn. You
’
ll be all right, if you stay away from foolish
women. Just be yourself.
”

Then his smile faded, and his eyes held hers. It was as
though nothing on earth could keep her from him now. Closer and closer she felt herself being drawn, until his
lips were on hers. Those precious lips she could have drawn from memory were on hers, telling her what
words couldn
’
t express
—
and she was saying things right
back! It was as though all she had been feeling for him
was rising in a huge, glowing ball.

It was all
she could do to choke back the words
“
I love
you!
”
She must wait to hear it from him first. Thinking
back now, Emma realized it probably wasn
’
t more than
ten seconds before he whispered,
“
I love you, Emma!
”
At the time it had seemed more like ten minutes.

She thought she should probably hold back, wait un
til the next time she saw him, before she said the same
to him, but the words came from deep within and there
was no stopping them.

The next kiss left her head spinning and her knees trembling. She
’
d never known a person could feel like
this. She had leaned against his chest again, and Al had
said,
“
We
’
d better get back to
the house.
”

Al had gone off to the lumber camp that winter, and
she must have relived those moments a thousand times
while he was away. So long ago now . . . five, six, no, over seven years ago. Emma shook her head.
And I thought that once we were married, we
’
d always be to
gether
like that
.

What
’
s the matter with me!
I
’
m thinking like a silly
schoolgirl.

Emma picked up the
full pail of
milk
and headed back for the house, groaning with each step. Al just had to get home.

It wasn
’
t until she was pouring milk for the children
’
s breakfast that Emma glanced over at the
window and saw the geranium. She gave a little
cry, setting the pitcher down so hard that milk
splashed out.

Before she got around the table, she knew the
plant was hopelessly frozen, its darkened leaves already drooping. She cradled the limp bud cluster in her right fingers and wiped her tears with the left.

Albert
’
s head pressed against her hip.
“
It
’
s only a flower, Mama.
”

She patt
ed his firm little cheek.
“
I know ... but it
would have been so pretty.
”

She felt his head nod.
“
It
’
ll grow again.
”

“
No. It
’
s frozen too badly. See, the whole stem is
clear, like ice.
”
She handed the flowerpot to him.
“
Go set it out in the lean-to. If Grandma gives me another slip, I
’
ll plant it in the same pot.
”

Emma went to stir the oatmeal, afraid to discov
er what else she might have forgotten.

“
Tell you what, boys,
”
she said, when they were
eating breakfast.
“
When you
’
re done eating, you
can
carry wood in for the wood
box.
”

“
Me, too! Me, too!
”
Ellie insisted.

“
Well, now, Ellie, why don
’
t you help Mama bake
bread?
”

“
Dough! Dough!
”
she yelled, waving her spoon.

The last few times Emma had baked bread, she had
giv
en Ellie a ball of dough
to play with.
I wonder how
ma
y children I could have,
Emma thought,
before I
’
d
stop being thrilled when they learn something new?

Of course Ellie wanted the dough
right
now, and
pulled at Emma
’
s skirt while she heated milk and
mixed it with flour and the yeast mixture. As quickly as she could, Emma worked flour into a portion of dough for Ellie, sifted a bit of flour onto the oilcloth, and gave Ellie her dough.
“
Close that door as fast as you can,
”
Emma reminded the boys as they dragged wood in and thumped it on the floor.

Time and again her eyes went to the clock
. I never
re
alized how many times a day I look at the clock,
”
she
said to herself.
“
I feel cut off from the whole world, not knowing what time it is.
”
She looked out over the snow
and gray trees.
“
Everybody knows what time it is but
me,
”
she sighed.

By the time Emma finished kneading the bread, the baby was crying hard. Ellie
’
s ball of dough, looked like it
had been made with ashes instead of flour, but Emma
put both aside to rise. When it was baked, she
’
d suggest that Ellie let the chickens have her bread.

She changed the baby and sat down to nurse him. Did
she imagine it, or was it easier to sit today?

So far the boys hadn
’
t said a word about Papa coming
home today, and Emma wasn
’
t about to raise their
hopes by mentioning it. At times the snow in the air
was so heavy she couldn
’
t see the woods. She shivered,
t
hinking of Al walking thirteen
miles in the blinding
storm. She could almost hear Ma talking with Pa.
“
Think Al will make it home today? He always stops.
”
And Pa would just grunt.

Ma
always
had a little bag waiting f
or Al to take to the
children and bits of family news to send along. Some
times there was even a letter from Gustie. A pang of
loneliness for her big sister swept over Emma. Gustie,
the daredevil. Gustie, the strong, laughing one. Was she
still laughing after l
osing three little girls with croup?
Were little Luke and John all right? Had the new baby come? Suddenly Emma wanted to know so badly she groaned.
“
Oh, Lord. Please let me hear from her.
”
Then she shook her head.
“
I don
’
t see what good it does to pray, but I guess I
’
ll keep on.
”

When the baby was content again, Emma went to
wash dishes. No water. She
’
d take two pails to give her balance, she decided. At noon, when she watered the stock, she
’
d carry more. But when was noon? If only the sun would shine.

Coming back with the water pails, she couldn
’
t even see the house at times through the blowing snow. How could Al possibly get home?

While the water heated for dishes, Emma stretched
out on the bed to rest while she could. It wouldn
’
t be
easy to get down to the river to water the stock. She had
hardly begun to relax when Fred dropped a stick of wood
on his toe and cried. Then Albert called him a baby, so
Fred hit him and Albert hit him back, and Ellie got in
the way and fell into the house of sticks they were building and knocked it down, and Albert cried because she wrecked it....

Emma got up to make peace.
There
’
s no sense wash
ing dishes now,
she
decided.
It seems like a long while
since breakfast; I may as well feed the children again.
She
helped them get started putting the wood in the wood
box, and while they were busy, she scrambled eggs.

While they were eating, Emma put the bread in tins
and patted some dough in a shallow pan for
Kaffee Ku
chen.
She made indentations with her fingertips, poured melted butter over it, and sprinkled it with cinnamon
and sugar. It woul
d, be nice to have ready when Al
got
home before supper.
If
Al got home.

Later, Emma left the dishes standing and rocked Ellie.
Albert came and whispered in her ear,
“
Can I have some
paper when you go out?
”

She winked and nodded. When Fred wasn
’
t looking,
she whispered in Albert
’
s ear,
“
Why don
’
t you cuddle in
with Fred and sing him to sleep?
”

Ellie
’
s eyelids fluttered, then they were still.
“
Such a
little dolly,
”
Emma said to herself as she looked down at
the delicate pink cheeks and dark curls.
“
And I hardly
take time to look at her.
”

By the time Emma was ready to go out, Albert was
wiggling impatiently at the table. Quietly she took down
more paper and sharpened the pencil.
“
I hope they sleep
till I get back, but if they don
’
t—
”

“
I know, Mama. Don
’
t let
‘
em climb.
”

She smiled and gently closed the door behind her.
I
’
d
have to be awfully thirsty to go out in this storm,
she
thought as she opened the barn door. The ox hesitated a
moment but then moved out, and the cows plodded along behind him.

Although her knees were scabbed now, they still hurt
dreadfully when she knelt down by the water hole, and
spears of pain shot up her back. As she hauled bucket af
t
er
bucket, she choked back the urge to pray for strength.
“
God could have sent someone to help me,
”
she
_,
mut
tered under her breath. If He didn
’
t choose to help her,
she reasoned, she
’
d just have to do it on her own.

When the animals were back in the barn, Emma
leaned against the log wall for a moment before cleaning
the gutters. She had never let the barn get this dirty be
fore. She picked up the shovel, which seemed to be
made of solid iron, and then set it back down. Al could
do the cleaning with such little effort. It would have to
wait until he got around to it. She latched the door and
struggled through the snow, gasping when
the windswept her breath away.

“
When I
’
m in the house
, warm and dry,
”
she told
herself,
“
I
’
ll just have to face it: Al isn
’
t going to be able
to get home. In the le
an-to, she stomped her feet and
tried to brush off the clinging snow.

“
Give it to me, Fred!
”
she heard Albert yell as she
opened the door. Her eyes, accustomed to the blinding
glare, refused to see in the dim room. She strained to
make out their figures on a chair under the corner shelf.
What were they fighting over? Oh, no! Al
’
s straight
edge razor!
Fred held it, open, in his hand, and Albert
hung on to it by the handle, trying to pull it away from
him.

“
Albert! Let go! Drop it, Fred!
”

For one eternity-long instant no one moved, then the
razor clattered to the pine floor. Fred wailed,
“
I jus
’
wanted to s
’
ave—like Papa!
”
Albert streaked away, leav
ing Fred to her mercy.

Unaware of any pain, Emma propped her foot on
the
chair rung and turned Fred over her knee.
“
Don
’
t you
ever
take Papa
’
s razor again!
”
she railed, emphasizing each word with a well-aimed swat. She released him, and he ran howling to the bedroom.

“
What next?
”
she moaned. She saw Albert cowering
behind the coats along the wall, wide-eyed and chalky
white.
“
Come here, Albert,
”
she said shakily.

He crept toward her, chin trembling, and she grasped
him firmly by the shoulders.
“
Albert! Fred could have
been cut so bad. You know that, don
’
t you? You
have
to
watch him better!
”